A Voice

And a voice that holds, of the nights of spring, a beloved of evening converse,
And in it the echo of the roses' whisperings in the ear of dawn,
And a melody dewy-soft, like the clouds' confiding and the bounty of the moon,
So beautiful that the whisperings of the lute-string long to pour it forth;
For the courtship of lovers is not more beloved, nor more lasting in its trace,
Nor the refrains of prayer more majestic, nor sweeter to remember,
Nor the soft notes of the nightingales more plaintive — nor are they warmer,
Nor the trilling of maidens more delicious, nor more captivating...
...Long ago I dreamed of a mouth lavish with perfume and pearls,
And of a heart fluttering in my ribs, its longing ablaze,
That yearns toward a melody inspiring poetry, prompting thought,
And inclines toward a lip that bends with dazzling promises,
And drowses to the lullabies of sweet visions and images.